CHAPTER VIII THE COMPACT

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"You sent for me, madame,' he said presently, 'because it was necessary that some explanation should be given of the occurrences that have taken place in my family, of which you are a member. Each of us has reason to regret an alliance which has caused us so much suffering. Unfortunately for our happiness and our peace of mind the truth has been spoken too late; but it were idle now to waste time in lamentations. There are in life certain bitter trials which must be accepted; in that light I accept the calamity which has fallen upon us, and which, had I known before our marriage what I know now, would most surely have been averted. It was in your power to avert it; you did not do so, but led me blindly into the whirlpool. You have informed me that, after this night, you will never open your lips to me, nor ever again listen to my voice.'

"'Nor will I,' she said, 'from the rising of to-morrow's sun.'

"'I shall do nothing to woo you from that resolve. But you bear my name, and to some extent my honour is still in your keeping.'

"'Have you, then,' she asked, 'any commands to give me?'

"'It will depend,' he replied, 'upon what I hear from you. So far as my honour is concerned I intend to exercise control over you; no farther.'

"'Your honour is safe with me, as it has always been."

"'I will not debate the point with you. You say that you have decided on your course, and that no arguments of mine will turn you from it.'

"'Yes; my course is decided. Am I free to go from your house?'

"'You are not free to go. Only one thing shall part us--death!'

"'We have a child,' she said, and her voice, for that moment, insensibly softened.

"'Is he asleep?'

"'Yes.'

"He went into the inner room, and remained there for several minutes, and my lady, with a white and tearless face, waited for his return.

"I thought I heard the sound of kisses in the bedroom, but I could not be sure. There was, however, a tender light in my master's eyes when he came back, a light which showed that his heart was touched.

"'Our child shall remain with you,' he said to my lady, 'if you wish.'

"'I do wish it," she said.

"'I will not take him from you, only that I must sometimes see him.'

"'He shall be brought to you every day.'

"'I am content. Let him grow up to love me or hate me, as the prompting of his nature and your teaching shall direct. From my lips he shall never hear a disparaging word of his mother.'

"'Nor shall he, from my lips, of his father.'

"He bowed to her as he would have bowed to a princess, and said:

"'I thank you. But little, then, remains to be said. We are bound to each other irrevocably, and we cannot part without disgrace. We have brought our griefs upon ourselves, and we must bear them in silence. The currents of my life are changed, and these gates shall never again be opened to friends. I have done with friendship as I have done with love. I ask you what course you have determined upon?'

"'I propose,' said my lady, 'to make these rooms my home, if you will give them to me to live in.'

"'They are yours,' he replied. 'Unless I am compelled by duty, or by circumstances which I do not at present foresee, I will never enter them during your lifetime.'

"'It is as I would have it,' she said. 'In daylight I shall not leave them. If I walk in the grounds it shall be at nightfall. Outside your gates I will never more be seen, nor will I allow a friend or an acquaintance to visit me. Will you allow Denise to wait upon me?'

"'She is your servant, and yours only, from this moment. I am pleased that you have selected her.'

"'Denise,' said my lady to me, 'are you willing to serve me?'

"'Yes, my lady,' I answered. I was almost choked with sobs, while they were outwardly calm and unmoved.

"'Then there is nothing more to be said--except farewell.' And my lady looked towards the door.

"He did not linger a moment. He bowed to her ceremoniously, and left the room.

"When he was gone I felt as if some sudden and fearful shock must surely take place, as if a thunderbolt would fall and destroy us, or as if my lady would fall dead at my feet, the silence that ensued was so unearthly. But nothing occurred, and when I had courage to look up I saw my lady sitting in a chair, white and still, with a resigned and determined expression on her face. It would have been a great relief to me if she had cried, but there was not a tear in her eyes.

"'Do you believe me guilty, Denise?' she asked.

"'The saints forbid,' I cried, 'that such a wicked thought should enter my mind! I know you to be an innocent, suffering lady.'

"'You will do as you have been bidden to do, Denise. While my husband and I are living you will not speak of what has passed within this room.'

"'I will not, my lady.'

"And never again was the subject referred to by either of us. She did not make the slightest allusion to it, and I did not dare to do so."

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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